


woven sea lace

by wintersrose616



Series: sun warm, salt stain [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Small things absolutely fascinate Dimitri. Like the way the barstools at the kitchen counter swivel, or the string that dangles from the living room’s ceiling fan that controls the lights. Every time his eye lights up with sheer delight at something new, Sylvain feels his heart swell with affection, threatening to choke him of every breath. Whenever Dimitri spots something exciting, and turns to Sylvain with a grin that’s nothing but pure joy and all sharp canines, it takes all of Sylvain’s self-control to not sweep him into his arms and kiss him breathless. He contents himself with thrumming nerves, pressing gentle kisses against Dimitri’s temple with a murmured, “I love you so much,” delighting in his own way when Dimitri’s blush rushes down his neck and burns the top of his ears..Dimitri never thought the path he would follow in his life would lead him to a life on land above the waters. With Sylvain at his side for every step, he finds he has no regrets for his choices.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sun warm, salt stain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779427
Comments: 29
Kudos: 115





	1. muscle ache

**Author's Note:**

> I was enabled too much, I think. It's still Mermay in my heart.

Dimitri doesn’t sleep, the first night.

It’s been an overwhelming day. From sunrise—all the last minute preparations and speeches he had to give—to sunset—the transformation to give his tail up for two legs that he’s still wobbling with.

He spends the first part of the night awake _with_ Sylvain talking, learning everything that’s happened to the other in the brief period they were separated as soon as they had stumbled into Sylvain’s home. Sylvain had only been slightly hesitant when they first walked in, almost embarrassed by how small his home was. As if Dimitri has any metric to measure how furnished a human house should be. As if he _cares_ that Sylvain's new sanctuary away from the horrors he had faced with his biological family might not have every unnecessary frivolity he had learned humans seemed to crave. 

They talk until Sylvain’s eyes grow heavy, and it takes multiple soft kisses before he finally gives in and falls asleep, expecting Dimitri to follow him shortly.

Except Dimitri can’t sleep. 

It’s unsettling how. . . _still_ everything is. He can still feel the phantoms of currents against his skin, even as he lays flat, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of cars driving by on the main road half a block away from the building they’re in. If he focuses, strains his hearing, he can even hear the water, the ocean far enough away that it’s not a loud sound, but close enough he can still take comfort from the sound of it.

He’s still processing everything Sylvain had shown him, feeling more than useless that he can’t even stand up on his own yet. His legs are still aching, despite only using them for brief moments before he had stumbled into Sylvain’s bed. Despite how exhausted his body feels, how quickly his thoughts are racing, Dimitri can’t help but feel the comfort and contentment with his decision. Sylvain is warm and solid beside him, his face tucked against Dimitri’s neck, arm and leg thrown over his body—an anchor, just for him. 

Dimitri shifts, tilting his head to look down at him. Sylvain’s hair is a mess, Dimitri constantly curling his hands through it earlier doing the exact opposite of helping keep it in his carefully styled waves. His face is completely relaxed, lips parted as he exhales warmth against Dimitri’s skin, lashes casting tiny shadows across freckled cheeks that Dimitri has to refrain from kissing. His body’s radiating heat, under the thin sheets they’ve tossed haphazardly atop themselves, and Dimitri loves how it feels to cuddle himself closer. 

He wonders if his inability to fall asleep is something deeper—that he is fearful to sleep, because he has an inkling of doubt in the back of his mind that he will wake up and realize that everything has been a dream. That Sylvain _loving him_ could be something that he is just so utterly desperate to have that he’s dreamed everything that’s happened in the past week. 

He refuses to believe it, fully. Sylvain is so warm, his breathing even, his heartbeat steady. Dimitri knows that he could’ve dreamed up the transformation—it was nothing like he imagined, though he had prepared extensively with Claude beforehand. Sylvain had been with him throughout all of it, there afterwards, when Dimitri was dazed and exhausted, pressing gentle kisses against his forehead until he was recovered enough to walk to his car.

Dimitri had only heard of a small portion of what Sylvain had shown him so far. Even when they made it into his home, there were more new names for things than Dimitri had been fully prepared for. The home wasn’t large—only three separate rooms—and Sylvain said most of the furnishings came from his friends’ careful planning, but it was enough that Dimitri’s eye had wandered with wonder even through the exhaustion the rest of his body felt.

They hadn’t had much time to talk about every new piece Dimitri’s eye caught. His legs kept giving out on him, and Sylvain had brought him to the bed where he’s been loath to think about getting up again anytime soon. Because even after everything else his thoughts could focus on, any other part that could have led him to sleeping due to the sheer exhaustion the transformation took, Dimitri’s thoughts can all narrow down into one: 

His legs are sore.

Claude had told him in the days leading up to then that it would take Dimitri far longer than a few hours to adjust to the differences of having a human body, but he was, unfortunately, too impatient to allow himself the proper time. He was frustrated at himself for not being able to handle things on his own yet. He didn’t want Sylvain to have to hover, and coddle, when he had his own life to get to. 

Sylvain's exhausted. Dimitri knows that. He had faced one of his greatest fears and almost drowned, he deserves his rest. Dimitri _knows_ that the choices that led them to where they were hadn’t been easy for either of them, but Sylvain looks so _peaceful_. He can't stop himself from lifting the arm that isn’t weighed down under him, running his fingers through Sylvain's mess of hair, still trying to adapt to blunted fingertips instead of his claws.

The movement makes Sylvain shift, and he blinks his eyes open, heavy-lidded and bleary. He frowns when he sees Dimitri is still wide awake, pushing himself up so he’s on his knees, looking over him. Dimitri can see the emotion flicker when he processes that, the tell-tale sign of self-doubt starting to claw its way over his features and into Sylvain’s chest that Dimitri might possibly be feeling anything close to regret over being here. 

As if Dimitri could ever regret choosing Sylvain over the sea.

Sylvain’s lips part, the rosy colour on his sleep-warm cheeks contrasting with how quickly the furrow settles over his brow. Before he can voice any question, Dimitri speaks first.

"I can't sleep," he murmurs.

"What's wrong?"

"My legs." He can feel the heat crawling across his face, down his neck, at the soft admission. "They're. . .sore."

Sylvain blinks, clearing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. He settles into sitting as he scrubs a hand over his face. "Your legs are sore?"

Dimitri nods, looking away. He knows it's ridiculous. He's faced worse injuries, strained muscles far more than this, but it's— _different_. He feels Sylvain moving, and his lips brush against the arc of his cheek, chasing the heat from his blush.

"Alright, hold on. Give me one second."

Dimitri pushes himself up to his elbows as Sylvain climbs from the bed. Dimitri knows Sylvain’s eyes are nowhere near as strong as his own, but he moves confidently out of the room and into the bathroom. He listens to the rummaging before Sylvain comes back out, clutching a few bottles in the crook of his elbow.

“What are those?” 

“Some special gifts I got from Hilda and Dorothea,” Sylvain explains, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over to turn the lamp on. The low, orange light fills the room, making Sylvain’s hair look like shimmering copper as he lines the bottles on the side table. “They’re lotions. It’ll help with sore muscles. Here, smell these, tell me which one you like the best.”

There’s three bottles in total that Sylvain’s brought out, two ostentatiously coloured while the last is a plain, golden brown. He watches as Sylvain unscrews the top of the bright pink one, offering it to him to sniff at. The smell immediately makes his nose crinkle in discomfort. It’s strong and unfamiliar, sweet in a way he’s not certain he likes. He recoils away from it, just slightly, and Sylvain laughs not unkindly at his expression.

“That one’s Hilda’s go to,” Sylvain says, smiling as he sets the bottle aside. “It’s a bit too much for me, too. Gardenias.”

“Gardenias?” he repeats, flummoxed, sniffing to try to clear his nose of the scent.

“They’re flowers.” Sylvain’s opening the next one already, the lid in between his fingers as he proffers it. “Here, this one’s the one I normally use.”

The one he smells next is distinctly _Sylvain_. Tangy in a way that was foreign before he met Sylvain, with a warmer aroma just underneath it. Sylvain’s still smiling that small, gentle smile when he pulls the bottle away.

“That one better?” he asks.

Dimitri nods, all but entranced. Sylvain chuckles softly. 

“Here, smell this last one before you decide which one you want.”

The final bottle, the one that’s less decorated, has a gentler smell. It’s less abrasive on his senses than the first one, but not something he’s used to smelling on Sylvain. He has no idea what they’ll be used for, but he trusts Sylvain whole-heartedly, and picks the one that smells the most like him. 

Sylvain hums, happily, tugging the sheets from atop Dimitri’s legs. He’s in a pair of borrowed shorts, most of his thighs bare. Sylvain shifts on the mattress, settling by his feet with the bottle of choice in his hands. He looks up, meeting Dimitri’s gaze, eyes filled with coppery affection, the light from the lamp glowing across his face.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

Dimitri nods again, immediately, but knows Sylvain would rather hear him say it. “I do.”

That smile, the one that curls higher on one side of his lips, dimpling his cheeks, will be the death of Dimitri, he’s certain. He nods, murmuring a soft, _Good_ , before he grabs the lotion bottle, squeezing some into his palm. Sylvain makes him settle back against the pillows, sitting up so he can watch. 

“This’ll make you feel better, I promise. Are your feet sore, too?”

“Not nearly as much as my legs,” Dimitri says.

Sylvain chuckles. “I’ll focus there, then.”

He starts at Dimitri’s knee, once he’s smoothed the lotion between his palms. The scent bursts along his skin, sending flutters of that tangy, warm scent that’s inherently _Sylvain_ rippling up to him from where his fingers dig into his sore muscle. Sylvain’s hands are large, though his fingers are delicate when they move down the length of his calf, working into the worst aches and soothing them away. 

When he’s finished massaging both legs, Dimitri’s floating in between wakefulness and the deep sleep his body’s been craving. All he can smell is Sylvain and the lotion. He barely moves when Sylvain finishes with a gentle kiss atop his knee before he moves to put everything away. Dimitri only shifts when Sylvain returns, climbing back into bed. The lamp goes off before Sylvain’s warm arm winds around his waist, and he’s given a string of soft kisses, smoothed across his jaw.

“Better?”

He tries to assure him, _thank_ him, but all he manages is a mumbled, “ _Mmhm._ ”

Sylvain’s chuckle sends a warmth through his chest as he lays beside him, nuzzling against his neck. “You like the smell of bergamot that much, hm?”

Dimitri manages to blink his eye open, finding the strength to lift his arm to push his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, settling at the nape of his neck. “Bergamot?”

Sylvain nods, humming. “It’s a citrus,” he explains. “Love it in tea.”

“Citrus,” he echoes, brow furrowing even as his eye falls back shut, heavy lidded. It’s not an unfamiliar word to him, but he’s unsure where he’s heard it before. Perhaps Claude, perhaps Dedue. He almost wonders it aloud, but Sylvain’s teeth brush against his pulse.

“Yep.” Sylvain presses closer, snuggling against his side. “I’ll show you pictures in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

Dimitri nods, letting his head loll to rest his cheek against the crown of Sylvain’s hair, allowing himself to finally drift off.


	2. shopping

Sylvain keeps one arm secure around Dimitri’s waist, propriety be damned as he keeps his hand in Dimitri’s back pocket. Dimitri’s still largely unsettled on his legs, though he’s getting better every day, and his steps no longer remind Sylvain of a newborn giraffe trying to walk for the first time. His confidence is building, too, with every step he takes successfully, which makes Sylvain feel a whole lot better about Dimitri giving up everything he knew just for him.

Still, they both feel better when he can lean on Sylvain, and the looks they get in passing mean nothing next to Dimitri’s comfort.

They’ve spent the past three days holed up in Sylvain’s apartment. Holst has been lenient with him for work, since Sylvain’s still largely in an _Adjustment Period_ , which is largely understated, considering he now has a sharkman-turned-human boyfriend to help get used to what’s purely human.

Small things absolutely fascinate Dimitri. Like the way the barstools at the kitchen counter swivel, or the string that dangles from the living room’s ceiling fan that controls the lights. Every time his eye lights up with sheer delight at something new, Sylvain feels his heart swell with affection, threatening to choke him of every breath. Whenever Dimitri spots something exciting, and turns to Sylvain with a grin that’s nothing but pure joy and all sharp canines, it takes all of Sylvain’s self-control to not sweep him into his arms and kiss him breathless. He contents himself with thrumming nerves, pressing gentle kisses against Dimitri’s temple with a murmured, “I love you _so much_ ,” delighting in his own way when Dimitri’s blush rushes down his neck and burns the top of his ears.

His self-restraint is being tested in full today, now that they’re out and about in the world. It’s only been a week since Sylvain had last done this exact thing, with Dorothea and Hilda as the showrunners and Ingrid and Felix their reluctant tagalongs. Sylvain’s _new clothes_ budget had been carved out of the Fraldarius’ ancient money, since they were only able to keep the news of Sylvain disowning himself away from Rodrigue so long—especially when Glenn was taking an active stance in extending his protective _Big Brother_ mode to Sylvain, though he’d deny it to their faces if they confronted him with it. Dimitri’s is coming from the second paycheck Sylvain’s ever earned for himself, signed with Holst Goneril’s name and deposited directly into the new bank account he had set up at the bank Dorothea’s boyfriend worked at.

Dimitri’s close to Sylvain’s build, broad shouldered and tall. He could, realistically, just keep borrowing Sylvain’s clothes. Sylvain also has to admit that it fills him with a trill, a possessive delight, he doesn’t have it in him to dwell deeply on when he sees Dimitri in his clothes. He resists bringing that up to Dimitri, for the sole purpose that letting Dimitri choose his own clothes is something that any reasonable and halfway decent person would do. Dimitri seems excited by the prospect, too, eye going over all of the different fabrics as they walk through the shop.

Shoes are something they’re still working on. Dimitri likes sandals or boots. There is no in between.

The clothing store Sylvain brings them to is one that’s specifically _out of the way_ , so that they don’t risk bumping into anyone that might know him. No one in his immediate circle of friends and family know about Dimitri yet—besides Felix. Sylvain had simply told him he was able to get a hold of Dimitri after a week without being able to, to which Felix, grumpy and half-asleep in the phone call, stated, _I didn’t ask_ , before hanging up.

Sylvain helps Dimitri pick out clothes, helps him in the fitting rooms as he tries them all on. It takes a bit to figure out what Dimitri likes fabric wise, how much he wants covered up, and even which colours he cares for. He doesn’t truly mind what he looks like, Sylvain gathers, he just doesn’t like the lingering looks his scars get from nosy passersby, but it’s easy for Sylvain to distract him from those. Brushing off the stares from strangers is second-nature to Sylvain; he’s still hardwired to deal with the mindset that came with being the Gautier heir to have lost his touch. 

By the end of their shopping spree, the back of the jeep is filled with bags of clothes. All of Dimitri’s picks had been soft cottons and comfortable joggers. Sylvain had insisted he have at least _one_ pair of jeans, which Dimitri had agreed to reluctantly, face turning a bright red in the dressing room when Sylvain had praised how he looked in them. The only thing he is steadfast in not wearing are any shoes besides a pair of boots Sylvain finds that at least kind of match the outfits he’s picked out. 

He makes a note to pick up a second pair of sandals from the store he had gotten his at for Dimitri later on.

Dimitri looks good in anything—better in nothing, if he’s being honest—and he delights when he tells Dimitri as such, ignoring the spluttering that comes from him at the declaration with a grin and a quick kiss. Sylvain knows that a week ago, when he was in this position, Dorothea and Hilda had done their utmost to make sure he looked _perfect_. Sylvain has to admit he’s still vain enough to care about that. Dimitri isn’t, really, but he preens under the attention Sylvain gives him, and that’s all he cares about as he chases the blush on Dimitri’s face with his lips until he can press them against his nervous smile.


	3. friends

The first of Sylvain’s friends Dimitri meets are Ingrid and Felix.

 _Fitting_ , he decides. Most of Sylvain’s stories have been of those two. Dimitri’s heard plenty of tales, back when they met on the shore, when the sun just started to dip beyond the horizon and the waves lapping at the sands were nothing more than whitenoise dulled in the background of Dimitri’s senses compared to the sound of Sylvain’s voice, always warm. Sylvain’s known the two of them for most of his life, spent almost all of his freetime with them when he could manage it. 

The way he meets them is also fitting, based on the tales he’s heard. 

Sylvain has been by his side almost every moment the few days since he crawled his way out of the waters. His presence was a soothing balm to the nerves that threatened to fray his thoughts whenever he got too deep in his own mind, and his arms were always quick whenever Dimitri stumbled over his feet. Regardless of how desperate he is to keep Sylvain at his side at all times, Sylvain still has responsibilities within his life, ones that Dimitri refuses to allow him to set aside because of his own selfish desires. 

So, Sylvain goes to work, leaving Dimitri to entertain himself within the apartment. He normally flits through the stories that line the small bookshelf Sylvain owns. He still struggles with reading the human language—there was only so much he could gleam from their words outside of the shipwrecks he and Claude would explore in their youth, their written words always so much more complicated than the hieroglyphs the merfolk used—but the stories he can garner from the words are entertaining enough. 

That doesn’t stop him from all but throwing the book aside when he hears the familiar noise of a key in the lock. He perks up, sitting up on the couch and twisting to look at the door, wondering why Sylvain’s home early, but certainly not going to question it.

Except the person who slips through the door is decidedly _not_ Sylvain. 

The man stops halfway in the door, sharp, umber gaze landing directly on Dimitri from where he’s perched on the couch. The stranger isn’t alone, either. He hears a second voice ask from beyond his shoulder what’s wrong, questioning why he’s stopped in the doorway, before a head of hair nearly as yellow as the sunflowers sitting in the windowsill pops up over his shoulder, bright green eyes honing in on Dimitri immediately.

Dimitri watches as both of their gazes flick from his face, lingering on his scarred eye, before tracing down over what’s visible of him from where he’s half-hidden on the couch.

The man takes a slow step inside, posture tense, wary. His eyes are narrowed as they brush over him, down to the pile of shoes stacked neatly by the door—Sylvain’s own array of sandals, sneakers and fancier shoes Dimitri couldn’t dream of wearing comfortably, and his own pairs of sandals and boots. When that sharp glare snaps back up to Dimitri’s own gaze, Dimitri has to wrestle his instinct of fleeing down, for he certainly isn’t going to _fight_ a human. He is positive if he tried to get up, his legs would tangle, and he’d leave himself far too vulnerable. 

“Are you Dimitri?” the stranger asks, voice razor-edged and severe.

Dimitri startles, blinking. “Ah—. Yes?” 

The man snorts, rolling his eyes. “Of course,” he states. “Ingrid, this is Sylvain’s boyfriend.”

 _“Boyfriend?_ ” the woman asks, still in the doorway. “Sylvain has a boyfriend?” 

“Yes.”

Dimitri only half hears what they say beyond the woman’s name. If she’s Ingrid, then that means— 

“Oh! You must be Felix!” 

Another eye roll is his answer. “Great. He’s told him stories. We’re only here because my father wants to make sure Sylvain isn’t starving himself, but since _you’re_ here, I’m certain you’re making sure he’s eating.” 

Dimitri feels like it’s more the other way around. He hasn’t had a sense of taste since his childhood, but Sylvain’s introduced him to a human diet filled with dishes that smell of herbs and meats he’s never known existed before, determined to see if he'll be able to taste any of it beyond the textures he can feel.

Felix doesn’t bother waiting for an answer from him regardless. He leaves Ingrid in the doorway to slip beyond the kitchen counter, opening cabinets and cupboards, humming as he finds them almost fully stocked. Ingrid is still staring at him in bewilderment when Dimitri moves his gaze back to her, and she blinks, straightening when she’s been caught, cheeks darkening to a dusty rose. 

“I—.” She stops, shaking her head, short strands of hair falling in her face before she pushes them behind her ear. She steps out of her shoes, jaw set with determination as she marches forward, hand proffered. 

Dimitri hesitates only for a moment before he takes it, startled by Ingrid’s strong grip as she shakes it once before letting him go.

“I’m Ingrid,” she states. “That is, obviously, Felix. You’re Dimitri?”

“Ah, yes. I am. It is nice to meet you,” he manages, only half stammering. 

Ingrid’s gaze is still whetted, lips slightly pursed as her brow furrows over her eyes. “How long have you known Sylvain?” 

“Oh, _Saints_ , we’re not doing this,” comes Felix’s voice. “He’s known him long enough. The cabinets are stocked—here, he even has your favourite jerky.” 

Ingrid’s shoulders relax, just slightly, as she looks over her shoulders towards where Felix is holding a bag.

“Ten minutes ago I didn’t even know Sylvain had a boyfriend, but you’re perfectly fine with him just. . . _being here_?” 

Beyond Ingrid’s words, and the soft crinkle of the plastic in Felix’s grasp, Dimitri’s ears pick up on another noise.

Sylvain _is_ home early. 

The door swings open, and Sylvain’s eyes immediately land on where he is on the couch, happiness exuding from him. He stops short when the door gets caught on one of Ingrid’s shoes, which leads his eyes to where Ingrid’s standing. Dimitri watches as panic starts to set in his expression as he takes them in, his hand still loosening the tie at his throat as he slowly shuts the door, trying for a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Ingrid! Felix! What a surprise!” 

“Oh, _we’re_ the surprise?” Ingrid asks, her expression full of suspicion as she crosses her arms.

Sylvain moves, his shoes haphazardly left in the doorway as he moves to come to the couch, acting as much as a barrier as he can without blocking Dimitri from their view fully.

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be here,” he says, leaning his hands back against the couch cushions. “So yeah, you _are_ a surprise.”

A snort comes from Felix, from where he’s still at the kitchen counter, clutching the bag of dried meat. He walks forward, unceremoniously smacking the snack against Ingrid, who hastily grabs it before it can drop to the ground. 

Sylvain gives them a weakened smile. “I see you’ve found the snack cabinet.”

“My dad wants to make sure you aren’t starving,” Felix drawls. “Which you obviously aren’t. You could’ve told us you had a visitor.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” says Sylvain, leaning his hip against the couch. Dimitri’s fingers are still digging into the cushion, and he refrains from reaching over to touch him. “It was a. . .spur of the moment thing. Also, when I called you about Dimitri, I’m pretty sure your exact words were, ‘ _I didn’t ask_ ,’ before hanging up on me.”

Ingrid whirls on Felix, whose cheeks colour with red, but Sylvain continues before either can get a word in. 

“I’m glad it was you two, at least, and not your brother and Holst.”

“They don’t have keys,” states Ingrid, immediately. 

Sylvain quirks a brow, glancing to Felix. “Are you telling me if Glenn asked you for your key, you wouldn’t give it to him?” 

“Depends on the excuse he gives me,” he answers, without an ounce of shame. 

Sylvain looks back at Ingrid, who heaves a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Right, well. I can’t believe you only told Felix about your boyfriend! I thought we were friends!” 

“We _are_ ,” Sylvain says, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. “I didn’t even mean to tell Felix, truly, it just. . .slipped up. _Not_ that I'm trying to hide you, or anything," he adds hastily, looking to Dimitri with the start of panic lacing through his expression.

As if Dimitri _minds_. He just smiles, reassuring, seeing the way Sylvain's shoulders relax ever so slightly, the way his lips curl up even through his nerves before he turns back to his friends.

“So,” Felix declares, crossing his arms, thankfully changing topics, “is he coming with to swim lessons this weekend?” 

Dimitri blinks, glancing over to Sylvain, who shifts his weight as he shrugs, forcibly casual. “Maybe. We haven’t talked about it.”

“You’re still coming, though, right?” asks Ingrid.

“Of course! I told you two I would. Now, as _thrilled_ as I am that you’re abusing your spare key privileges on Rodrigue’s behalf, I would really, _really_ love it if you guys, uh, _left_. Like now.” 

It takes a few more moments of coercing Ingrid after that. Felix just gives Dimitri another hard stare before he stalks out of the apartment. Ingrid is more insistent, but eventually leaves with the promise that Sylvain calls her later that night and explains.

When they're finally alone, Sylvain's shoulders slump as he locks the door, but when he turns back to Dimitri, he plasters on a smile that he'd be able to tell was fake with his eye closed.

Dimitri's smile, albeit hesitant, is sincere. "They seem nice."

Sylvain's mask cracks as he snorts, a grin threatening to break across his face as he hurries to the couch to all but tackle Dimitri into the cushions, nuzzling against his stomach as his arms wind around his waist. Dimitri’s heart leaps in his chest as his own arms encircle his shoulders, fingers curling in the soft hairs at Sylvain’s nape.

“They’re protective,” Sylvain mumbles, voice muffled from where he refuses to move away to speak clearly.

Dimitri thinks of Dedue, Annette’s puffy cheeked pout, Claude’s sharp, scheming eyes, and smiles. “I know the type.”

Sylvain chuckles, pulling back just so he can peer up at Dimitri. He’s lax against him, humming when Dimitri moves his hand to card through his hair, leaning up into the touch. “How do you feel about swim lessons?”

“I did not realize those were something that needed to be taught.”

Sylvain smiles. “I suppose you probably don’t need them, but you’ve never swam with legs before, right? It might be beneficial. I don’t think you’ll have any issues, but we go pretty much every summer.”

“You take regular lessons for swimming?” 

Sylvain shrugs as best he can in the position he’s in, crawling up just so he can lay his cheek against Dimitri’s chest. “Ingrid and Felix insist that refresher courses are what everyone does,” he says. There’s fondness deep in his voice as he explains. “They only take them because of me.”

Dimitri blinks. “Because of you?”

A nod, that bunches the fabric of his shirt. “Do you remember when you asked me if moving the boats away from the piers was my father’s way of protecting me?”

Dimitri remembers the night well, the first they had spent on the shore together, where the sun’s rays had slipped beyond the horizon as Sylvain sat in the tideline, letting the waves lap against him as he and Dimitri talked, despite the obvious discomfort of having the water actively touching him. He had never thought that night would lead to where they did, but he thinks it’ll always be seared into his memory.

His fingers are still absentmindedly stroking through the bright, cinnabar waves of Sylvain’s hair. “You said he was not trying to protect you.” Besides the declaration that night, every story Sylvain’s told him after involving his father has only solidified that as fact. Sylvain was born into a family that did not deserve him, and Dimitri is certain he is not the only one of that belief of Sylvain’s friends.

Sylvain just hums at what he says. “He wasn’t, but Ingrid and Felix try to. These swim lessons are their way of showing that—though you can’t tell them I know that, they think they’re still stealthy about it.”

“Stealthy?” 

He nods, pulling away so he can hold his gaze, that small smile curling his lips. “We started going to them when I was about thirteen, I think. Felix practically demanded Glenn take us, foot stomping and everything. They want to make sure I’m still halfway decent at swimming—which I _am_ in a pool. The ocean, not so much still.” He grins, a brilliant smile, teeth flashing as he winks. “But that’s okay. I knew someone would catch me if I slipped.”

Dimitri smiles, despite himself, leaning over to give Sylvain a soft kiss. “I don’t believe you _slipped,_ beloved.”

“Oh, no, I totally jumped in the ocean with no plan, but it worked out, didn’t it?” 

“I must ask that you _not_ do that again,” Dimitri says, rolling his eye. 

Sylvain just smiles, kissing him as he whispers promises he won’t.


	4. diner

After the not-disaster disaster that was Dimitri’s meeting Felix and Ingrid, Sylvain is determined to have full control over him meeting his other friends. There’s not really time to schedule or plan anything at first for the others, but the second time he meets Ingrid and Felix at the refresher swim courses is a whole lot easier than Sylvain had anticipated. 

Byleth’s been the instructor for the course for as long as Sylvain and the others have been going, and their blank eyed stare when Sylvain drags Dimitri in was paired with an indifferent shrug at having an extra person involved.

He’s unsurprised by how easily Dimitri takes to the water, even with legs, and dutifully stays with him as he avoids Ingrid’s prying questions of _where did you two meet?_ and _who exactly_ is _he_? He had always liked seeing Dimitri in the water, back when they would meet at the shore, with his shockingly blue scales and the bright fins that framed his face. He had never got to appreciate it in water he could see through, though, and he isn’t ashamed by how he watches Dimitri’s muscles work as he pushes himself through the water.

He also isn’t ashamed when he slips into the deeper end and Dimitri holds him afloat with his arms wound around his waist and Sylvain’s hands hold steady against his broad shoulders. Felix spends the latter half of the lesson yelling at Sylvain for his PDA, but Dimitri just beams whenever Sylvain holds him close.

He thinks over the batch of others he could introduce Dimitri to, deciding quickly that even if Marianne’s there to tone her down, Hilda _will_ overwhelm him, gossipmonger that she is. His time to plan something that he can control though is rapidly running out, though. It’s been years since he’s gone this long without seeing the others at least twice a week. Everyone’s been understanding, at least, but now that Ingrid has informed the group chat of his guest—her words, not his—the demand for a weekend beach day has skyrocketed.

Dimitri seems content to keep things at Sylvain’s pace, always looking amused whenever Sylvain insists his friends are quick to dig out any piece of gossip they can. Ingrid’s finally stopped asking him how he met Dimitri, insisting that his answer of _at the beach_ was a complete lie, and he knows that means she’s leaving Hilda in charge of getting the actual truth. 

Still, Sylvain knows it isn’t exactly fair to Dimitri, keeping him by himself. He’s heard plenty of stories of Dimitri’s own friends to know just how much he misses them, and while Sylvain’s group of friends would never replace them, it might soothe the ache. 

Dimitri’s told him the merfolk he trusts the most know where he is, what he’s done and why, but it’s not the easiest thing to just pop back into the water for a quick visit. Dimitri has a plan laid out on when he will see them again, but his friends had insisted that he wait until he’s more adjusted to the whole _human leg_ situation.

Besides, from what he can tell, Dimitri’s friends have their arms full with rebuilding a political system from the ground up. Dimitri had done all he could to lay out the beginnings of a democratic reformation before he had come to Sylvain’s side, but it wouldn’t be something that the merfolk could just deal with right away. Sylvain’s never lived through a political upheaval, nor been through a war like Dimitri has, but Sylvain knows Dimitri’s left the Kingdom in capable hands. He cared far too much for his people to leave them in anything but the best.

Sylvain has a very precise plan for the beach day Hilda’s orchestrated. Ingrid will be picking up Hilda and Marianne, and Sylvain’s been made to swear he’ll bring his _mysterious beau_ with him alongside Felix, lest he wishes to face Hilda’s wrath. The only one who can’t make their afternoon beach fest is Dorothea, which means her boyfriend won’t be tagging along either. She had been scheduled the graveyard shift for the weekend, so she’d be sleeping while they’re out and about. 

It makes her the best icebreaker for the steady introduction of Dimitri to the others. She’ll undoubtedly prod and pry, but she knows how to be charming about it, whereas when Hilda sets her eyes on a goal, all thoughts of sweet and alluring go out the window, every syrupy manipulation gone in her desire to get the information she wants.

Sylvain reassures Dimitri no less than six times as he steers the jeep down familiar roads to the diner that they can leave whenever he wants, at breakfast, and later, at the beach. Dimitri’s smile is more amused than anything as he tells Sylvain he’ll be alright. 

“I have full faith that your friends will be nothing but nice.”

“They’re _gossipmongers,_ ” Sylvain insists. “And I’m sure you being the former king of a merfolk kingdom isn’t something you want them to know.”

“No,” Dimitri agrees. “But I don't think that will come up in conversation.”

Sylvain just makes a soft noise, pulling into the parking lot. He wants to believe that it’ll be fine, but he knows his friends too well. There’s only so long Sylvain can skirt by with half-truth answers before someone asks just the right question that breaks down the bricks he’s carefully stacked around _my boyfriend is a merman._

The neon sign outside the diner is flickering rapidly, and Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t turn on that night when the sun finally sets. With dawn steadily growing into day, the sky’s tinted with hazy pinks and oranges, clouds lazily drifting across the expanse above them. There’s only two cars parked in the lot outside of where the employees’ cars sit. He recognizes one of them as Ferdinand’s, and the other is familiar enough that he thinks ‘Thea’s favourite regulars are there for their Saturday morning coffees. 

Dimitri’s steps out of the jeep with more confidence than he had had even three days prior, only resting his hand on the car’s hood to steady himself once. Sylvain watches him as he closes his eye, knowing that he’s listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore just a few scant blocks away. The smell of sea and salt fills the air, overpowering the smell of asphalt and old food, and it must be a welcome respite from city smells. 

Sylvain walks over to the side of the car, the smile on his lips something he can’t control, brushing a hand against Dimitri’s where it rests atop the car. He blinks his eye open, a pale pink spotting high on his cheekbones when he sees Sylvain’s expression.

“My apologies.”

Sylvain grins—he can’t help it—and leans over to pepper Dimitri’s nose and cheeks with kisses. “Don’t be, darling. I’ve been keeping you away from the beach too long. It’s been selfish of me.”

“Nonsense,” Dimitri murmurs, laughter in his tone as he squirms away from Sylvain’s onslaught of kisses. “I want you to be selfish with me, love.”

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” Sylvain groans, dropping his face to Dimitri’s neck. “You can’t just _say that_.”

Dimitri laughs. “I thought we were meeting Dorothea?” 

Sylvain huffs, trying his best to pout, but his treacherous mouth betrays him with a smile. “Fine.”

That earns him the softest kiss on his cheek, before Dimitri’s fingers lace with his. “Lead the way?” he offers, shyness starting to drip into his tone. 

Sylvain squeezes his hand, leading him to the double glass doors, the small sign declaring _Open 24 Hours!_ bumping up against the glass with the movement as he holds the door open for Dimitri. The pop music playing over the speakers is staticy, but loud enough that the old men at the counter’s voices are nothing more than soft murmurs. Sylvain’s eyes flick around, spotting Dorothea at the other end of the diner, her bright red dress a beacon, even as it blends in with the red splashed across the entire restaurant. Her hair’s loose today and Sylvain watches her twirl the ends of it around her fingers as she talks with Ferdinand from where he’s camped out at the corner booth Sylvain has a feeling they’ll be claiming as well. 

Dimitri’s taking it all in with a meticulous gaze, his eye darting around. Sylvain spots his nostrils flaring as the diner’s scents reach him. His senses are still far stronger than Sylvain’s. Underneath the permanent aroma of burnt grease and stale coffee, he has no idea what else could be lingering in the air besides pleather from the booths. Whatever it is isn’t awful enough to have his nose crinkle in the way Sylvain’s seen it do whenever he smells the perfumed lotion Hilda’s given him, the motion too adorable for Sylvain’s heart to stand without Sylvain smothering him with his lips. 

As the door swings shut behind him and the bell finally chimes, Dorothea looks over. Sylvain watches as she blinks, a perfectly manicured brow raising as she leaves Ferdinand to approach, red lips pursing when she lets her eyes rove over Dimitri. 

Sylvain is still holding his hand. Dorothea’s eyes narrow in on that before she swings her gaze back up, surprise writ across her features.

“Right, okay,” he breathes, softly, so that only Dimitri hears. His hand is squeezed and he appreciates the reassurance as he clears his throat. “Good morning, ‘Thea!” 

“Sylvain,” she says, voice carefully neutral as she stops half a foot in front of them. “It’s early.”

“It is,” Sylvain agrees, “but you’ve been here all night, yeah?” 

“Yes.” Her eyes flick to Dimitri, then back, brow quirking. 

“This is Dimitri.” He speaks before she can ask, slipping his hand free, so he’s not squeezing Dimitri’s fingers like a lifeline. “And, Dimitri, this is the ever lovely Dorothea,” he declares, with a flourished half bow that has Dorothea’s eyes rolling.

“So _this_ is Dimitri,” she drawls. “We haven’t heard that much about you.”

“Ingrid hasn’t,” Sylvain corrects. “Because she’d tell you, and you’d tell Hilda, and I’d never hear the end of it.”

Dorothea huffs. “Oh, don’t be dramatic, Sylvie. Go sit with Ferdie,” she says, nodding towards the corner booth. “He hasn’t ordered his food yet.”

“Ferdinand was not part of my plan,” he admits to Dimitri, as Dorothea goes to check on the men at the counter. “But he’s. . .neutral.”

“Neutral,” Dimitri echoes, amused.

Sylvain rolls his eyes, but says no more as they reach the booth. Ferdinand has a book in front of him, but looks up, blinking as he startles. A polite smile curls his lips up, and he looks ready to stand up to greet them _properly_ , but Sylvain motions for Dimitri to slide into the booth before he can.

“Ferdinand,” Sylvain greets, “we’ve been told to pester you.”

Ferdinand’s smile is bright. “I can assure you, you are no pester, Sylvain!”

Sylvain huffs a noise that’s a half-scoff. “You’re one of a very small list that thinks that,” he says. “This is my boyfriend, Dimitri. Dimitri, Dorothea’s boyfriend—”

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” Ferdinand declares, extending a hand across the table. “It is very nice to meet you, Dimitri!” 

“How much coffee have you had today, bud?” asks Sylvain, as Dimitri takes his hand in a quick shake.

“Three cups! Dorothea’s other customers needed her more than me, so I’ve been having coffee while I wait to put in my order.”

“Only three?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“You know I prefer tea,” Ferdinand says, as if _that’s_ why Sylvain’s skeptical. “But Dorothea brewed this coffee herself!” 

“Of course she did,” sighs Sylvain. “Cool, alright, let’s get you two some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen if I was going to have Ferdie have speaking lines, I needed him to say The Thing.
> 
> I have no regrets


	5. beach day

Sylvain’s hand rests against his lower back, and it’s almost _too_ distracting for Dimitri, who’s concentrating on his steps. He’s gotten better at walking over the past few weeks, and Sylvain’s friends have never questioned his slower gait, but he still likes the reassurance of Sylvain being close to catch him when he stumbles. 

The walk is more difficult than normal because he’s unbalanced. Sylvain was insistent that he could manage to carry the bags holding their belongings on top of the large umbrella that lives almost permanently in the back of the jeep, but Dimitri was adamant he be allowed to help. Hilda’s praise for both of them carrying everything between the two was something he’s grown used to, but he still enjoys knowing he’s being helpful.

It’s not their first beach day, and he has a doubt it’ll be the last. Sylvain’s friends had been all for welcoming him into their friend group, once the initial shock of Dimitri’s arrival wore off. It had only slightly overwhelmed him, how accepting they all were, but he hadn’t been expecting anything else from them based on the stories he had been told.

They’re walking half a pace behind Hilda and Marianne, the ocean drawing closer with every step they take, and Dimitri can feel the tension easing from his shoulders at the saltwater smell drawing closer. 

Sylvain’s thumb swipes a gentle pattern against his back, and he steps so his side is pressed against Dimitri’s, steadying him without Dimitri having to even ask, while his eyes never stray from the phone in his hand. Hilda curls a lock of pink hair behind her ear as she turns to look over her shoulder, asking Sylvain if he’s heard from any of the others yet.

“Felix can’t make it,” says Sylvain. “Rodrigue’s got a _family fun day_ planned.”

“Ew,” Hilda declares. “What about Ingrid and ‘Thea?”

“‘Thea’s still at work, and Ingrid says she might swing by after lunch.”

“ _Ugh._ ” Hilda heaves a sigh, lips turning down in a petulant pout. She rolls her shoulders and loops her arm with Marianne’s, tugging her close. “Oh, well, at least I’ve got you, beautiful!”

“ _Hilda_.” Marianne whispers her reprimand as her face lights with a blush.

Hilda just hums, lifting her other hand to brush against her cheek. “You’re going to need more sunscreen, sweet.” She glances over her shoulder to look back at them, eyes narrowing at Dimitri specifically, which makes him startle. “You two put on sunscreen. _Right_?”

Sylvain just laughs. “Yes, before we left and picked you guys up.”

Dimitri makes a noise. “Ah—”

“I knew it!” Hilda declares, while Sylvain looks to him, brows furrowing. “You _have_ to wear sunscreen, Dimitri! It’s bad for your skin otherwise! Sylvain, didn’t you check?”

“I was busy making sure _you_ knew we were on our way.” Sylvain’s hand slides up to wrap around his shoulders, pulling Dimitri flush against his side as Dimitri’s face and ears burn with a blush. “It doesn’t matter,” Sylvain says, glancing to himi. “I’ll help you put it on when we find our spot.”

Dimitri starts to apologize, but Sylvain just leans over to brush his lips against his temple. 

“It’s alright—any excuse to touch you is a good one.”

Hilda groans. “Sylvain, you haven’t taken your hands off of him since we got in the car.”

Sylvain winks at them. “Can you blame me?” 

Dimitri’s face bursts with heat as Hilda rolls her eyes and Marianne giggles at them before Hilda marches on ahead. 

Hilda finds them a spot away from the other beachgoers who have already staked out claims in the sand. The mid-morning sun is warm, sending rays of golden sunlight across the waters. Dimitri’s only distracted by the waves for a moment, before Sylvain’s hands grab the bag on his back. He hastily lets it drop, helping lay out the towels while Sylvain stakes the umbrella above them. Before they’ve even had a full chance to settle, Hilda’s stripping her overdress off and rushing towards the water. Marianne’s only a half step behind her, hastily smearing more sunscreen across her face as they reach the shoreline.

Sylvain settles them on the towels underneath the umbrella’s shade. He rummages through one of the bags to produce his bottle of sunscreen, keeping his promise to help Dimitri apply it. He hums happily when he helps Dimitri put it on his face, sitting back when he’s done, tweaking the tip of Dimitri’s nose where it’s crinkled from the smell.

“All done,” he says, looking pleased.

Dimitri smiles, leaning close to thank him and give him a chaste kiss in reward. Sylvain hums, even _more_ pleased, and sits back to pull out the waxed cords he normally brings to twine new bracelets and anklets, alongside the book Dimitri had brought to read.

He doesn’t spend his entire time under the umbrella’s shade. The ocean still calls to him, and when he’s finished with the chapter, he sets the book aside. Sylvain glances up, fingers twisting pinks and whites for something that’s obviously meant for Hilda. 

“Gonna go swimming?” he asks.

Dimitri nods, stretching his arms above his head, delighting in the affection smile Sylvain throws his way.

“Have some water first? Everyone needs to stay hydrated.”

He huffs a small breath, smiling slightly, and accepts the bottle Sylvain proffers, taking a long drink. Sylvain goes into an overprotective mood for everyone whenever they’re at the beach. Dimitri cannot fault him for it, truly. 

“Will you bring one for Hilda and Marianne, sweetheart?” Sylvain asks, already pulling another bottle out of Hilda’s insulated bag. 

Dimitri accepts it and the soft _thanks_ Sylvain gives him as he slips out from under the umbrella and picks his way across the sand. The sand was the easiest for him to adjust to walking on, even that first night, when Sylvain’s arms had been a necessity to help keep him balanced as they made their way from the private shore of the Gautier estate to where his car had been left. It feels welcoming, the dry warmth crunching underfoot melding into softer sounds when he reaches the damp line the tide has left. 

Hilda and Marianne are in the shallows, Hilda’s hair completely soaked and sticking along her shoulders from the high tail she has it tied in. She spots him first, throwing her arms up and sending water droplets flying in an array that causes a rainbow to cascade briefly over the waves. 

“Dimitri! Welcome! The water’s really warm today!” 

He chuckles at that, letting the first waves start lapping at his toes. It _does_ feel warmer than it had last weekend, when clouds were woven tightly overhead in a grey blanket. Even the threat of rain hadn’t stopped them from spending almost the entire day out. Hilda’s insistence that they spend the last few weekends they have before she and the others return to university is something that reminds Dimitri of all the excursions Annette and Mercedes would plan, to ensure they didn’t spend all their time in councils and working.

“Sylvain’s sent me with the reminder of staying hydrated,” he calls, and Hilda heaves a sigh, as if the weight of the world has fallen atop her slim shoulders. 

“He is _such_ a mom,” she huffs, but she wades close to take the bottle from him. 

He spends most of his time sitting on the sand, enjoying the company whenever Hilda and Marianne decide to take short breaks and sit with him, letting the white foam of the ocean cover their calves as the water recedes. When they break for lunch, Sylvain’s finished two new anklets for Marianne and Hilda, who slip them both on over their feet in between bites of their meal.

Lunch is also the time for more sunscreen, which Dimitri cannot stop his internal lament about. Sylvain's hands are gentle where they reapply it for him, fingers massaging it in tenderly. It's not something Dimitri has grown accustomed to yet—his skin as a human is far more tender, more prone to damage, than he could have ever dreamed. It makes him nervous, whenever he's around Sylvain's friends, but they had all been so accepting of him right away he truly had nothing to worry about. The worst judgment he’s faced has been from Hilda, who doesn’t understand his aversion to _‘protecting his skin.’_

His nose still wrinkles at the scent of the sunscreen, but Sylvain's knuckle smooths down the furrow of his brow as he goes, murmuring a soft apology for the smell. 

"There we go," Sylvain declares, humming happily. His thumbs stroke gentle patterns along his jawline, his cheek dimpled. "Feel better, darling?"

'Better,' is not the word he thinks he'd use, and he tells Sylvain as such, resulting in that warm, deep laugh of his that has his lips curling up. Sylvain's hands are still cupping his face, and Dimitri blinks, startled, when he leans in. Marianne and Hilda are barely half a foot away from them, engrossed in their own reapplying process, but Sylvain's normally better about keeping kisses more private—

His lips press gently against the scars crossing Dimitri's right eye, before his fingers trail across the fresh heat that bursts across his face, thumbs stroking across his cheekbones.

Sylvain's grinning when he sits back. "How 'bout now?"

Dimitri's stammering earns him another laugh as Sylvain's hands finally part from his overheated skin, rummaging to grab a bottle of water for him to sip on, as Dimitri tries his hardest not to _pout_.

He's so focused on willing his blush away, that Hilda's gasp startles him.

"Goddess, Sylvie, is that who I think it is?"

Dimitri glances to Sylvain, who's frowning at something—some _one_ —over his head and he turns, the water bottle almost falling from his hand when he spots a familiar face walking across the sands.

"No fucking way," Sylvain breathes, and Dimitri whirls to look at him, because they had to be looking at different people.

There was no way—

Hilda's up in an instant, leaving her sandals behind as she rushes past them.

_"Claude!"_

Oh.

Oh, dear.

His head snaps over just in time to see Hilda launch herself at him, hugging him tightly. Dimitri watches as Claude laughs, a familiar laugh that settles deep within him, causing his mind to start to whirl with thoughts that all narrow down to it being a mistake. He barely registers Sylvain's movements until his hands are on his, helping him up. Sylvain's _grinning_ , his eyes as warm as the sunset, burning orange under the umbrella’s shade.

"An old college friend," he explains, obviously mistaking Dimitri's building distress for something else. "Come on, I'll introduce you. He doesn't bite."

_Well, that's not true_ , his mind supplies, but Dimitri bites down on his tongue before he can blurt that aloud.

Claude’s dressed in clothes befitting any of the other beachgoers, clothes Dimitri had never once dreamed of seeing any of his old friends in. A thin tee atop deep golden swim trunks that Dimitri thinks matches the colour of his scales. He can hardly drag his eye away from his legs as he and Sylvain reach him and Hilda.

Sylvain also gets a hug from Claude, whose smile is slow and steady, a feline smirk as Hilda asks him questions about him being back in town in the same breath she scolds him for disappearing without a trace. He takes it all in stride, hands in the pockets of his shorts, and Dimitri is probably staring at his legs far too much.

His thoughts are confirmed when he looks up, meeting amusement in his sharp, green gaze. 

"Claude, this is my boyfriend Dimitri," Sylvain introduces, and Dimitri watches Claude's expression flicker, rapidly, before it settles back to amused. He lifts his hands behind his head, casually, as if Dimitri isn't trying to figure out how these two worlds of his collided before he even knew.

"Ah, _'boyfriend_ ,' is it?" he asks. "It's good to see you, Your Royalness."

"Claude, don't be weird," Hilda demands.

“What? He looks like royalty!” Claude smirks at him. “Like a king!” 

Hilda huffs, immediately launching into a string of questions that Claude barely answers. _Where have you been? How come you haven’t talked to any of us? How long are you staying?_ Claude’s eyes are sparkling with mirth as he brushes through them with non-answers, Hilda’s voice bordering on petulant with each question she asks.

Sylvain is standing to Dimitri's right, and even outside of his immediate vision, Dimitri can feel tawny amber burning into the side of his face. He glances over, heat warming his face, the tips of his ears. Sylvain's got a furrow to his brow, lips slightly parted. He glances to Claude, then back, and all at once, Dimitri sees the comprehension crest over his face like a wave crashing against the shore.

"Oh," Sylvain manages. " _Oh_."

"Yes," says Dimitri, voice more meek than he intends.

Sylvain looks back to Claude, who's still talking with Hilda, her hands gripping his and starting to tug him back to where they've left Marianne under the umbrella.

"Huh," Sylvain says, after a pause. "Alright, then."

_"Alright_?" Dimitri questions, baffled.

Sylvain shrugs, slings his arm around Dimitri's waist and plants a kiss to his temple. "Alright."

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I always thought his teeth were weirdly sharp.”

_“Sylvain!_ ” 

“Hilda!” Sylvain calls, when they’re close enough to the umbrella. “Stop your interrogation! Marianne, come with us, we’re going to go get shaved ice for everyone.”

“What?” Hilda whirls on Sylvain, lips twisting down in a frown. “We’re just going to leave our stuff?” 

“No.” Sylvain’s hand moves, trailing lightly between his shoulder blades. “We’re giving Claude a chance to breathe, and Dimitri will stay with him, too.” 

Dimitri’s eye snaps towards him, but Sylvain’s smile is casual. When he feels Dimitri’s stare, he glances over and winks.

“Don’t worry, Claude doesn’t bite.”

“That’s not true,” says Claude. “But I only do it if I’m asked _nicely_.”

Dimitri frowns over at him, ready to disprove that statement, but he manages to refrain as Sylvain squeezes his arm. 

“It’ll be fine. C’mon, ladies, I’m paying.” 

After another quick bout of useless arguing, Hilda relents. Dimitri catches the brief bit of final protest from Hilda as Sylvain leads both she and Marianne away, towards the brightly coloured shaved ice stands just beyond the rocky fringe of the shore. 

"You're going to leave _Dimitri_ alone with Claude? Really?"

"Dimitri's a big boy,” Sylvain tells her, “I'm sure he can handle Claude better than you think."

Claude all but flops onto the towels, settling down as if he’s done it hundreds of times before. Dimitri thinks of Sylvain telling him about his college days, and based on Hilda’s reaction, it’s definitely possible he _has._ Dimitri sits back down where he was, carefully rearranging the spools of Sylvain’s waxed thread so they’re not messed up.

He has many questions. Many, many questions. He has no idea where to start. Claude doesn’t voice anything, letting Dimitri’s mind swirl in his racing thoughts. When he manages to settle on his first question, it comes out ripped from his lungs, rushed and hurried.

"How is everything?"

Claude lifts an eyebrow, glancing over. His eyes slowly roam over him, as if he’s testing Dimitri’s patience—and _of course_ he’s testing Dimitri’s patience. He always has, ever since the day they met in their teenaged youth. His expression shifts from _observer_ to playful and Dimitri feels the frown tugging on his lips. He lifts his chin, lips parting, readying to order Claude to tell him an answer, but—

But he has no authority to do so.

Claude's lips twitch into a smirk, and Dimitri would be a fool to think he isn’t able to read the realization on his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Your Kingliness."

Exasperation laces through him and he barely stops his eye from rolling as he leans forward, palms pressing against the beach towel beneath him. " _Claude_ —"

"It's fine," Claude states, rolling his eyes, as if Dimitri's desperation for any news of the place he called home for twenty-two years is surprising, Dimitri _purposely_ ruining this game he's never had a desire to play. "Everything is progressing as smoothly as possible, considering we're still piecing together what Edelgard destroyed."

Dimitri frowns, nerves alighting under his skin. He has no regrets leaving the Kingdom to his friends, but perhaps he had been _too_ hasty. A week's planning could only get them so far, and—

"Dedue sent a message with me."

Dimitri startles, perking up. "Dedue?"

Claude smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners. "He told me to tell you that, ' _you need not worry_.'" He pitches his voice as low and deep as he can manage, trying in vain to imitate Dedue, and it has Dimitri smiling despite.

"But—"

"You worry about everything all the time. We know." Claude winks. "He told me you don't need to. _And_ , Annie and Mercie gave me something to give to you."

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a piece of rolled up, woven kelp, seashells dotted alongside it. The pattern that's been added into it is one he knows well, the Crest of Blaiddyd staring up at him from the tapestry.

"I think Mercedes made the thing, and Annie just enchanted it so it wouldn't dry out on the surface, but we all thought you might need a little piece of home up here."

Dimitri stares down at the small tapestry in his hands, feeling a familiar burn starting in the back of his eye. Claude leans down, craning his neck so he can look at his face and Dimitri blinks rapidly, twisting away.

"Aw, _Dimitri_ —are you crying?"

"No," he says quickly, petulantly, a lie that definitely doesn't land as he hastily reaches up to wipe at his eye.

"Oh, c'mere." Claude's voice is filled with laughter as he tugs Dimitri to him in a hug. "We miss you, too, y'know. But we all know this was what you wanted."

Dimitri squirms, putting up the pretense of fighting out of the embrace, but Claude doesn't let him go until he squeezes him tight. When he draws back, he keeps his hands firm on Dimitri's shoulders.

"Y'know, you look _really_ good with legs. They totally suit you.”

Dimitri scoffs, shrugging his hands off of him, seeing the bright grin Claude gives him at the affectionate smile curling his lips. 

"You are truly exasperating, Claude."

A shrug as Claude settles back on the towels, still grinning. "Someone's got to be."


	6. moving

Dimitri's teeth aren't nearly as sharp in human form as they are when he's not, but they're still sharper than a regular human, and he's decidedly more _bite_ -y than any of Sylvain's former trysts had been.

Normally, it’s not a problem. Sylvain actively encourages it, much to the chagrin of his friends whenever he decides to wear low-necked shirts. It’s only that the sharp teeth can be _very_ distracting, especially when he’s leaning over a spreadsheet he’s printed out, box numbers and what needs to be inside them all written down neatly as Dimitri leans against his back, arms wound around his waist, teeth nipping trails along his pulse, steadily thrumming in his neck.

“Dimitri,” he sighs.

“Mm?” Another nip, followed by the soothing swipe of his tongue. Dimitri’s never been good at playing _coy_.

“I work in the morning. I really need to finish this before tonight.”

“It is _very_ important,” Dimitri agrees whole-heartedly. He bites again, this time harder, sending shivers down Sylvain’s spine as he sucks against the mark. He draws back just enough that his lips brush over the sensitive skin, breath warm and wet against his neck. His voice pitches lower. “I have full faith in your abilities, Sylvain.” 

_“Dimitri.”_

A burst of breath across his skin as Dimitri mimics his serious tone. “ _Sylvain_.” 

"And you call me insatiable."

Dimitri presses his smile against the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. "Perhaps I just want to see which one of us is more impatient, my love."

His eyes roll as he steadies his elbows against the kitchen island. He doubts Holst would be mad if he was a _little_ late in the morning—Holst always greeted him in the morning with a task list for the day before leaving Sylvain to his own devices, knowing that he’d get his work done even if he spent a solid portion of the day on his phone. 

Living in the apartment building Marianne’s father owned was always going to be temporary, even before Dimitri moved in. Sylvain spent hours scouring apartment listings with Holst on breaks at work, asking Dorothea her opinion on some of the places she used to live when she first moved to the city, trying to find something that would work for the both of them. The loft that he finds is practically perfect. It’s close enough to Holst’s business for Sylvain, but also close enough to the beach that Dimitri would only need to step onto the patio to see the water in the distance. It’s by no means _large_ , but it’s bigger than the apartment they’re in, and comes with a half bath downstairs that Sylvain thinks is a minor blessing, so people wouldn’t need to traipse through the bedroom when they were over. 

He was lucky that Marianne’s father had even let them slip in and out within four months. Sylvain hadn’t signed any lease, just paid a heavily discounted rent price that he was certain he only got because of Holst. 

Sylvain knew very few people who could look Holst Goneril in the eye and tell him _no_.

(It’s a two person list. Glenn and Hilda. That’s the list.)

Packing has taken him more planning than he thought would be involved. Moving _in_ to their current apartment had been easy—it had just been him and the suitcase of clothes Rodrigue had foist upon him. The furniture had come later, in multiple trips and multiple boxes that he and Felix had spent hours building together in the living room. 

Now, though, he has to plan on the things he owns being packed in boxes and brought to the new place. Which means he made a spreadsheet to detail what’s going where.

Dorothea had laughed so hard at him she hung up on him when he told her about the list.

Dimitri’s teeth scrape against the shell of his ear and Sylvain closes his eyes, words slowly starting to mean nothing when Dimitri is warm against his back. 

“Sweetheart, _please_ ,” he pleads. “I have three more boxes.”

Dimitri hums. “You do,” he says. “I believe in you.”

“Holst is bringing his truck over first thing in the afternoon,” he says, “and Glenn and Felix are only willing to help tomorrow.”

“I do not see how this is an issue, Sylvain.” His lips follow his words, trailing along the part of Sylvain’s jaw that he can reach. “Are you truly telling me you cannot handle this if I’m hugging you?”

“You are doing _far more_ than hug me,” he protests.

“Mm.” Another nip. Sylvain’s hands crinkle the paper that’s spread on the table. He feels Dimitri’s smile against his skin. “I have full faith you can handle a bit of distraction, beloved.”

“You’re _mean_.” He pushes the paper away from him as he twists, leaning back against the island as he turns to face Dimitri. 

His eye is sparkling with a mix of amusement and desire, the brilliant blue of it almost completely swallowed by his pupil. Rose tints his cheeks, high on his cheekbones, spreading across his neck. His hair’s half pulled back, the few strands of gold that fall in his face doing nothing to obscure Sylvain’s view of his handsome features. He brings his hands up, cupping his cheeks just long enough for Dimitri to nuzzle against one of his palms before he pushes them farther, twisting them into the soft strands at the nape of his neck. He tries his hardest to pout at him, but Sylvain can see how pleased with himself he is, Dimitri’s lips curling into a smug smile.

“You think I’m mean?” he questions.

“In this instance? Yes.” Sylvain tugs against his neck, and Dimitri falls against him, laughter immediately swallowed by Sylvain’s lips against his. When they part, both breathless, Dimitri doesn’t go far, smearing messy kisses along his cheek, down his jaw, nipping at the skin he hadn’t been able to reach when he was angled against his back. “You’re explaining to Glenn why we’re not ready tomorrow.”

Dimitri’s chuckle rumbles through where they’re pressed chest to chest. His lips don’t leave his skin as he murmurs, “Glenn does not scare me nearly as much as I believe he scares you, beloved.”

“He’s _scary_ , Dimitri.”

“Mmn.” Dimitri pulls up to give him a searing kiss, making Sylvain temporarily forget everything besides _DimitriDimitriDimitri_. When he draws away to let Sylvain breathe, he whispers against his lips, “I can protect you from Glenn.”

Sylvain laughs, an uneven and rough sound bubbling up his throat. His fingers smooth through Dimitri’s hair, tugging at the tie to let his hair spill loose over his hands. Dimitri’s eye goes dark, a pleased rumble coming from deep within his chest as he realizes Sylvain’s done putting up the pretense of a fight.

“I’m holding you to that if he yells at me.”

“I doubt he will,” Dimitri says, dropping his arms from his waist to hoist Sylvain up. 

It would never _not_ thrill him, when Dimitri proved just how strong he was. Sylvain hadn’t been carried by anyone since he hit his first growth spurt at eleven and started standing taller than Glenn by fourteen. Dimitri lifts him with ease, as if he weighs nothing more than a feather, and Sylvain’s legs wrap around his waist. He grins, pressing his forehead against his as Dimitri smiles at him.

“Take me to bed?” Sylvain proposes, delighting in the squeeze of Dimitri’s fingers into the meat of his thighs. 

“With pleasure,” Dimitri murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before they move from his abandoned work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't ask me what kind of job Sylvain has outside of a random office job, I don't know the answer, I didn't think of an actual business Holst could run


	7. dinner talk

The diner is never normally _busy_ when they go. They hit off times for rushes, Sylvain meticulously planning their dinners out for whenever Dorothea worked. It’s still not that busy, but it’s crowded enough, when they arrive after spending a day at Felix’s fencing lessons. Dimitri had grown used to wielding a trident and spear under the water, but he had seen pictures of Felix at his lessons, his collection of swords, and asked if he might be able to go with to see one.

Felix had seemed actually happy, after his surprise, when Dimitri showed interest. He’s pleased—Felix has hardly shown him anything more than mild disdain paired with annoyed eye rolls, despite Sylvain insisting Felix actually liked him. _Listen, it’s hard for him to show what he’s truly feeling,_ Sylvain always tells him, _you’ll get used to it—I’ve had two decades of practice dealing with him._

Still, he’s almost foolishly proud that he has an equal level to talk with Felix about something. While he doesn’t know much about swords, Felix seems content to talk about them, and asks after Dimitri’s knowledge of spears and lances with earnest interest. 

Sylvain sits beside him in the booth, as Felix sits across from them, idly flicking through the menu. Dorothea’s busy—almost all of her tables are full, and she flits around in her bright dress, hands always full. With the three of them, she seems more lax on letting them wait, which they’re fine with. Sylvain’s drained two glasses of water from the pitcher Dorothea’s left on the table for them by the time she returns to them to take their orders, smiling with obvious relief when Sylvain tells her she still looks stunning.

As soon as Dorothea’s taken their menus away, Sylvain shifts to stand, stretching his arms over his head. Dimitri has to restrain his eye from dropping down to the strip of skin that’s revealed when his shirt rides up with his stretch, knowing if he looks at the right place, he may very well see the splotchy bruise from a bite mark over his hip bone. 

“I have to pee, I'll be right back,” he declares. 

"I believe you're staying _too_ hydrated," Dimitri quips, grinning when Sylvain sticks his tongue out at him in retaliation.

“Felix, be nice while I'm gone.”

Felix rolls his eyes “I'm always nice.”

Sylvain waves a hand in a dismissive motion, already walking away. "No, you're not, but we love you anyway."

They sit together in silence, Dimitri gingerly pushing the spinning rack of spice shakers on the table as the music and chattering of the others in the restaurant fall to whitenoise. Just outside the window, cars pass on the main street, and people in all sorts of dress walk by on their way to the boardwalk. As Dimitri spins the rack, his gaze continually drifts to Sylvain’s jeep, a blue beacon in the midst of tans and silvers. 

He isn’t expecting Felix to break the silence. He’s used to sitting quietly while Sylvain takes charge of the conversation. Dimitri’s just stopped pressing against the rack and has gone for a sip of his drink when Felix speaks, and the question is not one he’s expecting.

“Has Sylvain ever told you he almost drowned when we were children?”

Dimitri chokes on his water, taking a moment to cough and clear his throat. Felix watches him, burnt copper eyes wholly unimpressed, and unamused as Dimitri splutters.

His voice comes out as a rasp when he manages to speak. "Ah—yes. Sylvain has told me that before."

Felix hums, eyes narrowing as he swirls the straw in his drink. "He was lucky. A current washed him back onto the shore."

Dimitri can’t tell if his throat is dry due to the coughing fit, or because of the sinking suspicion he knows where this is going. He knows what Sylvain’s friends think: an unlucky bump caused Sylvain to go overboard, but their goddess seemed to desire to make it right, having an odd current carry Sylvain to safety.

He knows the true story, the one Sylvain doesn't want his friends worrying over. An older brother with a solid push, a half-shark child with a firm grip. 

"I am grateful," he manages to say, his voice surprisingly steady, "that he was able to make it back to shore."

"Mmn." Felix's hummed agreement tells Dimitri nothing on if this conversation is over or not. Thankfully before he can dwell too much, he sees Sylvain returning, letting out a low exhale as he shifts in his seat.

Sylvain glances between them as he sits back down. Dimitri knows he must look like _something_ has happened, and he feels like his face must be red. He tries to look away, idly reaching out to push against the spinning rack, the squeak of the old metal the only noise between the three of them before Felix, once again, breaks it first.

"Sylvain."

"What's wrong, Fe?"

The diner isn't too crowded, their voices aren't carrying over the music playing through static filled speakers, but Dimitri still feels himself tense at the set of Felix's shoulder, the narrowed points of his gaze.

"When were you going to tell us you're fucking a mermaid?"

Dimitri makes a noise and Sylvain straightens up. His lips part as his eyes dart over to Dimitri, who would really enjoy nothing more than the red, pleather booth to allow him to sink into it and hide. Perhaps he could just go back to the water—push the scheduled return he has to the Kingdom in a month and a half to today.

Sylvain doesn’t seem _nearly_ as flustered over Felix piecing everything together and phrasing the accusation as he had. Surprised, perhaps, but not as reactive as Dimitri. His eyes flick back to Felix from Dimitri and he leans back against the seat, his hands dropping from the table. One reaches over to Dimitri’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as he tilts his head, ginger strands bouncing with the movement.

“I would rather you _not_ describe my relationship with Dimitri like that, Fe,” he says, voice completely steady.

Felix rolls his eyes. “So I was right. Were you planning on telling us at all?”

Sylvain hums. The hand that’s not on Dimitri’s thigh lifts to tap at his chin, fingers drumming along his jaw. “That depends,” he drawls. “Were you ever going to tell _me_ you fucked a mermaid?”

Felix makes a face, a bright blush bursting across his nose and cheekbones. “Wh—? I _haven’t,_ Sylvain!” 

“Oh? Really?” 

He leans his elbows on the table, glancing to Dimitri. He winks, which baffles Dimitri and seems to infuriate Felix, who makes another squawked denial. 

“Right, sure,” Sylvain says, nodding. “But—ah. You _did_ tell me about your one night thing with Claude, remember?” 

Dimitri whirls, head snapping over to look at Sylvain, who looks completely at ease, lips curled in an effortless smile. His eye goes to Felix, watching as that statement sinks in, processes. The blush that fills Felix’s face goes from a dusty rose to a brilliant scarlet, crawling down his neck.

“Wh—? Claude isn’t—!” 

Felix stops, spluttering more syllables that could’ve been words. He stops altogether when Sylvain just quirks a brow at him, and Dimitri glances over to see him looking far, far too amused for what’s happening. 

Felix’s face turns even redder, which Dimitri marvels at, before he makes an aborted, choked noise as his hands slam against the tabletop. Before he can stumble through any words, Sylvain speaks, voice no longer steady as it warbles with barely contained laughter.

“But you were _so certain_ you’d know if they were walking among us, huh?”

“Fucking— _fuck!_ ” Felix’s furious stare is pinned on Dimitri, eyes burning. 

Dimitri tries once again in vain to get swallowed up by the cushy pleather. 

“Do you know Claude, then?” he hisses, his voice soft and carrying a lot more fluster than anger. “Hilda said you two seemed _friendly_.”

“Ah—.” Dimitri glances to Sylvain for help, for a cue on what he should admit or not. The sound of Felix’s rage has drawn some attention from the others in the diner, but not many would be able to tell just _what_ they’re arguing about, since they’re keeping their voices low enough.

Sylvain just props his cheek against his fist, eyes dancing with amusement. He lifts a brow, as if telling Dimitri _go on_. 

He clears his throat, turning back to Felix, who's still startling red.

“Well, Claude is— _was_ —one of my advisors.”

Sylvain makes a noise that’s half-laugh, half-surprised choke. “Oh, we’re dropping _everything_ now, are we?” 

Felix ignores him, eyes narrowing. “‘Advisor?’”

Dimitri nods. He can feel the heat lacing through his face. “Before I abdicated my throne,” he says.

Felix’s eye twitches. “Before you did _what_?”


	8. reunion

Learning that someone Sylvain had spent nearly five entire months attending classes, eating meals, and getting shit-faced at rowdy bars with was, in fact, a merman was something that would’ve thrown Sylvain for an entire loop last winter. 

Now, though, he’s just thrilled Claude’s been able to act as Dimitri’s messenger, soothing his anxieties about how the Kingdom reformation is going alongside the repairs from the war, and updating him on how his friends are doing in their personal lives. Dimitri’s been on land for over half a year when he first returns to the water. Claude appears a couple weeks beforehand, crashing on their pullout couch downstairs to build up the energy needed to go through the transformation again. 

Sylvain follows behind Dimitri as he excitedly tugs on his hand, leading him expertly over the wet sand patches and rocky shielded tide pools as they follow an invisible path Claude takes to find a safe spot for them to transform amongst the sea stack dotted shore. Dimitri’s _brimming_ with excitement, throwing grins over his shoulder every few steps that Sylvain can’t help but return, his heart bursting with joy at the sight of it.

It’s ridiculous, he knows, how desperately and intensely he falls in love with Dimitri every, single day. When he wakes up first, seeing Dimitri’s hair spread out on the pillow in a mess of a halo, the sharp edges of his features softened with sleep, he _has_ to kiss him to wakefulness, melting on the spot when Dimitri blinks his eye open, the blue bright even in the dimmest of mornings. Whenever Dimitri lets him spoil him with deep conditioners in his hair, the bath bombs meticulously picked out by Dimitri and Hilda on one of their trips to the shopping center fizzing in the bath water, Sylvain has to chase the blush that trails down from his neck to his chest, delighting in the beaming smiles he gets, always half-embarrassed and shy over the treatment.

Sylvain still remembers the first time he had accidentally gotten them a bath bomb with sparkles. It had taken him nearly two hours to scrub the tub clean, and when he had gone downstairs, hair still pinned back with clips, it was to find Dimitri in the living room, still shirtless, looking as radiant as a god from legend as his skin shimmered under the light. He had hardly noticed Sylvain come downstairs, staring at his arms and hands, letting the light hit him in incandescent waves that caused the blue glitter across his skin to all but glow. When he finally noticed Sylvain, he had smiled at him, telling him he liked how the light looked on the shimmers. Sylvain had ruined the clothes he had been wearing, grabbing Dimitri and kissing him breathless as the glitter got all over them.

It had been over seven months since Sylvain had seen Dimitri in his merman form. He stays by his side as the transformation twists his body, scales emerging to replace the soft, downy hair on his legs and arms, his fingernails growing and darkening to the blue claws Sylvain owed his life to twice now. His ears grow at the same time as they thin, replaced with the brilliant blue fins that framed his face and always contrasted sweetly with his blushes. 

Sylvain’s camera roll is full of pictures of Dimitri doing the most mundane things. His friends had grown sick of him showing off pictures the first few months, more confused than anything else as to why Sylvain was so adamant to show him off. The only picture he has of Dimitri in this form is from one of their nights when Sylvain was still the _Gautier Heir_ , with his hair half-tied back and the sun dyeing his skin hues of burnished oranges and reds. That picture had been Sylvain’s phone lockscreen for _months_ , until he replaced it with one of Dimitri half-asleep in one of Sylvain’s old college sweatshirts.

Dimitri was inherently handsome in either form, even if he was loath to believe it himself. Sylvain tells him daily, alongside his morning kisses, pressing the compliments into sleep-warm skin with the gentle brush of his lips. 

They’re in a low tide pool, the ocean’s waters lapping against the blue scales of Dimitri’s tail and Sylvain’s knees from where he’s kneeling in the damp sand. The rocky precipices surrounding the beach Claude had chosen protect them from any prying eyes, and even Claude is nowhere to be seen, off to transform on his own, far more used to it than Dimitri is. 

As soon as Dimitri’s breathing has calmed from his lungs getting re-used to having to share the ability with gills, and his shoulders stop trembling from exertion as he leans in the loose embrace of Sylvain’s arms, he tries his hardest to reciprocate the kisses Sylvain presses along his cheeks and forehead. 

“I forgot how that felt,” he manages, after a moment, voice airy.

Sylvain snorts, kissing against the slightly damp hair on the crown of his head. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Dimitri nods, tucking his face into his neck. He was like this the first time, when he had gotten his legs. They had stayed on the shore for an hour until he recovered enough to even _think_ about walking. Going _back_ to a tail, though, seems to let him recover quickly. Sylvian’s got his clothes tucked away in the knapsack he brought, and gathers the slightly dampened bundle Claude gives him when he appears in the shallows. The only things Dimitri is bringing along are some bracelets Sylvain had made, colour matched by Dimitri to fit his closest friends, all the cords lined up on one of his wrists.

“You sure you can handle being by yourself for two whole weeks?” Claude asks, lips turned down in a mock pout that has Sylvain rolling his eyes as Dimitri slips under the water. 

“I’ll manage.”

Claude grins, submerging. Sylvain watches as the golden-yellow scales of his tail reflect the rays of the sun that manage to get under the water’s surface. He obviously talks to Dimitri about something, before he kicks off, heading deeper into the ocean. Sylvain watches until Dimitri resurfacing catches his attention, and he kneels down, letting the white-froth of the waves cling to his skin as Dimitri pulls himself closer. He leans down when Dimitri pushes himself up onto his hands, tasting salt and seawater on his lips when he kisses him. Sylvain lifts a hand to push wet strands away from Dimitri’s face, half-tucking them behind a fin that flares at the motion. 

Dimitri smiles, tilting his chin to press a quick flurry of kisses to his palm, leaving salt-stained prints along his skin. 

“Tell the others I say hello,” he says, “even though they’ve probably only heard stories from Claude about me. Tell them those aren’t to be trusted.”

Dimitri laughs, still holding his hand against his cheek. “I will tell them the truth,” he promises. 

“What’s that?” 

Dimitri beams. “That I love you very much.”

The sincerity in his voice is enough for Sylvain’s heart to keel over. His fingers just slightly start to tremble in Dimitri’s claws, and he covers what is sure to be embarrassed stammering up by kissing Dimitri again until his heart stops pounding.

“I love you, too.” Sylvain smiles, letting his hand trail down Dimitri’s jaw before he drops it back to his side. “Also, tell the others that I once saw Claude down three bubblegum cocktail shooters in a row that resulted in vomit as pink as Hilda’s hair.”

Dimitri’s brow furrows in minute disgust. “I will not ask what _any_ of that means,” he states, before breezing right to the next topic. “Two weeks?”

“I will be here at sunset,” Sylvain says. “Have fun with your family, my love.”

He steps back as Dimitri slips deeper into the water. He stays close to the surface, the blue of his tail a shade that Sylvain could pick out even in the darkest of ocean waters, his dorsal fin cutting atop the waves until he rolls to pop his head over the water’s surface for one last look. Sylvain lifts his hand to waggle his fingers, watching as the blue of Dimitri’s clawed fingers surfaces to give him a tiny wave of his own until he descends under the water’s surface.

Two weeks shouldn’t have been considered a long time in the grand scheme of things. Sylvain kept consistent with his schedule, though his usual date nights out were replaced with what he used to consider normal, before he had re-met Dimitri that fateful sunset in early summer. He spends an excessive amount of dinners crashing Rodrigue’s family dinner nights, watching him impressively drink down half a bottle of wine when Glenn gets on a _Holst Tangent_ on his own while refusing to let Glenn and Felix have any of it.

Sylvain knows better than to ask for some. 

He gets increasingly on the others’ nerves, despite his best efforts to not be overly whiny about how he misses Dimitri. He still manages to get Felix to the point where he tells Glenn he can kick him out of the Fraldarius house three days before Dimitri’s set to return and Glenn seems more than thrilled to tug him out by his ear. 

By the time he’s driving to the beach, Sylvain is at his limit. He feels deprived, and knows he’s going to be extra clingy for the first few days. Dimitri won’t mind, at least. If Sylvain’s lucky, he’ll be just as clingy.

The sea stacks stand proudly out of the water, the waves parting around the smaller rocks that dot the surface around them. The sun’s starting to set by the time he starts to pick his way away from the alcove he leaves his bag stashed in, carefully making his way across the rocks, ignoring the prickling of anxiety that still threatens to rise to the surface whenever the water crashes over his legs. 

Sylvain isn’t quite sure _what_ he’s expecting when he returns to the shore. He’s expecting Dimitri, certainly, and maybe some of his friends, maybe even Claude. What he’s not expecting is to settle in the shadow of the sea stack, eyes skimming over the ocean for a peek at lapis scales in the surrounding indigo waves, is for scales the colour of honeyed marmalade to shimmer in the rays of the sun before a face pops out of the water, hands flat on the rock by his feet. Sylvain has just enough time to process the bright ginger hair falling about her shoulders, her fins flaring as she stares up with widened eyes before she’s shouting.

“You must be Sylvain!” 

He slips off the rock and crashes into the water, hearing her shout of _oh no!_ before the water fills his ears. His body doesn’t have time to freeze up in panic like the last time he had jumped into the ocean before familiar, clawed fingers are settling against his sides, hands hefting him under his arms. He blinks rapidly when he’s forcibly surfaced, spluttering water out of his mouth as he leans back against a broad chest as he hears panicked apologies.

“I startled him!” the woman says. “He slipped!” 

“Peace, it’s alright.” Dimitri’s voice rumbles out against him, soothing immediately as his hands keep Sylvain upright. Cold lips press against his cheek as Sylvain pushes the hair out of his eyes, sending droplets flying. Dimitri’s eye meets his, warmth and affection clear in the blue hue of it. His voice is low when he speaks, smile gentle. “You’re alright, beloved?” 

“‘m okay,” Sylvain manages, his heart thundering in his chest. “I would really like for my feet to be on solid ground, though.” 

Dimitri nods, bringing them to where the rocky shore gives way to smooth sandy floors and Sylvain can find his footing without the merfolk completely beaching themselves. When he manages to flop back against the damp sand, not the steadiest grounding, but close enough, Dimitri follows, pressing a few quick kisses against his cheek and nose before Sylvain rights himself to kiss him back. He sits up properly after that, shaking off more water—he definitely didn’t bring a change of clothes for himself, and hopes the towels in the backseat of the jeep are enough to save his upholstery. 

In the water a few feet away is the mermaid who spooked him and another unfamiliar face, but Sylvain’s heard enough stories to piece together who they are.

“So, you must be Annie, then,” he says, smiling and her hands flail in the water.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” 

“I’m okay,” he assures, laughing slightly. “It’s not the first time I’ve ended up like that.”

Dimitri hums, softly at his side, but Sylvain moves on to the other merman, loitering quietly in the waves, eyes steady when Sylvain meets them. 

“And, let me guess—you’re Dedue?” 

He’s given a nod, the stoic mask falling for a small, gentle smile at the dip of his chin. The few strands of silver hair that fall in his face are brushed away with the tips of flinted grey claws. “We have heard much about you.”

Sylvain can see the weight of war and nation rebuilding on both of them, just like he could see it in Dimitri. Scars litter their bodies, cutting through skin and scale alike. Annette’s cheerfulness is a highlight, though, her wrist adorned with the teal-blue bracelet Sylvain had taught Dimitri how to make as she talks excitedly about the Kingdom. Dedue is quieter, his soft smile filled with endearment as Annie talks control of the conversation. Dimitri stays at Sylvain’s side, claws idly dragging along the damp fabric at his side and back, until the sun sets completely, leaving them in the sparkling light of the full moon shining overhead and the breeze turns cold. 

The goodbyes take longer, Annette throwing her arms around Dimitri before coercing Sylvain deep enough into the water to hug him as well. By the time Dimitri’s trembling in his arms, recovering with legs instead of his tail, the moon’s high above them and Sylvain’s clothes are halfway dried, stiff from salt. 

He peppers kisses alongside Dimitri’s jaw and neck until his fingers tighten in his hair and pull him back to kiss him properly. They kiss until they’re breathless, until they’re both shivering in the night air.

“Home?” he offers, softly, thumbing along Dimitri’s kiss-swollen bottom lip.

His lips curl up around his thumb, pressing a kiss against the pad of it. “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I am shamelessly putting Annie and Dedue together in this au, no you cannot stop me


	9. home

Dimitri wouldn’t call himself an expert at anything, especially when it comes to dealing with human courting customs, no matter how long Sylvain spends spoiling him. Any time he returns to the Kingdom for visits, Mercedes and Annette ask after him, ask how they’re _progressing_ , as if Dimitri has any way to properly translate their own customs into something that a human would understand. 

Besides, they’re content with how things _are_. Dimitri would never want to ruin what’s been established by trying to push them past what Sylvain seems at ease with. He loves Sylvain, more than he thinks he’s ever loved anything before, and he knows Sylvain feels the same way. 

Most of their mornings are spent with Sylvain setting an early alarm so he has an excuse to laze in bed with him, showering Dimitri in affectionate words and pet names that make Dimitri feel like he might burst from love. Sylvain’s eyes are always half-lidded, burning tawny amber in the low morning light, even when his words are pure and well-spoken, as if his only thoughts upon waking are of Dimitri and his devotion. 

Regardless of all that he's learned as a human, he still is very much in the dark of a lot of things he feels he _ought_ to know. Which is why when Sylvain calls his name, Dimitri doesn’t understand the nerves that warble his voice.

Nor does he understand why he’s kneeling on the ground, holding a piece of silver between his fingers. 

He frowns, taking in the expression on Sylvain’s face, anxiety and fear clear. There’s spots of a splotchy red blush high on his freckled cheeks. Dimitri blinks, glancing from his face to the piece of jewelry, taking a step forward to get a better look. His head tilts as he examines it, realizing all at once that the piece is a ring, the metal twisted and braided to look akin to scales with a blue stone embedded within.

“Oh!” Dimitri exclaims. “It’s a ring!” 

Sylvain’s brows furrow just briefly before he lets out a laugh. “Yeah—it is.” His voice pitches oddly, but Dimitri can’t place why he would be anxious about it, except—

“Did you drop it? Is that why you’re kneeling?” 

“I—ah—” He clears his throat, the hand not holding the ring rubbing at the back of his neck. “No, I didn’t drop it.”

“Oh.” Dimitri feels his own brows pinch. “Hilda wears a lot of rings, does she not?” 

“She does.” Sylvain’s voice is tight. “She certainly does.”

“Are you—?” Dimitri stops, considering, taking in Sylvain’s flustered state. “Are you giving it to me?” 

There’s a moment of silence between them, before Sylvain’s chin jerks in a quick nod. “Yeah—yeah, I am. Do you—do you want it?” 

“I always love your gifts,” Dimitri tells him, smiling, trying to soothe his anxiety. “It is very beautiful.” 

He holds his hand out, and Sylvain lets out a deep breath, air gusting out as he takes Dimitri’s hand in his own. He’s trembling, just slightly, as he slips it onto Dimitri’s finger. He holds it up to the light, letting the lamp reflect off the stone, feeling his lips curl upwards.

“It looks like scales,” he murmurs.

Sylvain rises, face still red. “I—I had it custom made,” he admits, voice still shaky. “I thought you might like it.”

Dimitri hums, reaching out to tug him closer to press a kiss to his lips. “I love it,” he declares. He lifts his hand, eye landing on the ring nestled at the base of his finger as he tenderly brushes the hair away from Sylvain’s face, following the motion with his lips. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not!” Sylvain says—too quickly, voice hitching an octave higher. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m not. I just—. I gotta go talk to Felix.”

“Felix?” Dimitri asks, brows raising in surprise. 

Sylvain nods, another jerky movement. He kisses Dimitri firmly. “I love you,” he says, lips still against his before he draws back, rushing towards the front door, tugging his shoes on as he goes.

Dimitri blinks after him, barely able to get an _I love you, too_ , out of his mouth before Sylvain’s out the door. 

He stands where he is, staring at the ring for another moment as he goes through the date, trying to think if today was anything important or not. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday, nor any of the human holidays Sylvain had told him about. He hums, still confused, but more determined to figure out what was going on. 

The small phone Sylvain had gotten him is one he hardly uses. He’s mystified by technology in a way that Claude insists he should be used to by now, but all he uses his phone for is to make calls to Sylvain or the others. He navigates to his contact list, pulling up Hilda’s phone number. 

She answers on the third ring, and when he asks if she’s at home or her place of work, she invites him to her office. 

Hilda’s workshop is a few blocks away from the building Holst’s business runs in, a small office that’s just large enough for her to safely have a heat source to melt down the metal she uses. Dimitri has never put any thought into metalwork—he is certain his strength would be his folly if he even attempted anything with it—but Hilda’s office always fills him with awe. 

The walk isn’t too far away from his and Sylvain’s apartment. Now that he’s sure footed with his steps, Dimitri feels at ease leaving to embark on the fifteen minute walk. Hilda welcomes him in with a sweep of her arms, hair braided back away from her face. The smell of her perfume lingers underneath the scent of heat and metal that permeates throughout the room, but he finds it surprisingly comforting as he follows her inside, letting her hum as she grabs her cup of iced tea as she settles in a chair at a table far away from her work.

“So, what’s happened?”

“Sylvain gave me this, but he seemed nervous about it.” He holds his hand up, showing off the ring, watching as Hilda’s pink eyes widen and she chokes around the straw in her mouth. 

Dimitri rises, immediately ready to assist, but Hilda manages to speak through her coughs. “He _gave you a ring?_ ” 

Dimitri nods, brows furrowing as she holds her hands out, making grabby motions with her fingers. He hesitates for just a moment before slipping the ring off to give her, feeling naked already, as if he had somehow managed to betray Sylvain just by taking it off.

Hilda’s eyes sparkle as she looks over the ring, bringing it close to inspect the detailwork. 

“I’m unsure what I missed,” he says. “It seems important, but he just gave it to me.”

“He just _gave it_ to you,” she echoes. “He didn’t ask any questions? Specifically _one_ question?”

“Ah, he did ask me something when he gave it to me, but I don’t understand how that would be important.”

“What did he tell you _exactly_ , Dimitri? I need it word for word.”

He frowns. “Well, I asked him if he was giving it to me, and he asked if I wanted it, to which I said yes. He said he had it custom made.”

Hilda’s eyes flick up from where she’s inspecting the ring carefully. A lone eyebrow raises, disappearing underneath the shade of her bangs. “That’s it?”

He nods. “He was very nervous about it, though. Did I do something wrong? Am I supposed to give him one back?” He pauses, feeling the first licks of despair crawl through him. “. . Is this a tradition I messed up?” 

Hilda rolls her eyes, handing him back the ring. He feels immediately at ease when he’s slipped it back onto his finger, as if it belongs there.

“You’ve done _nothing_ wrong, Dimitri,” she states. “Sylvain just—he panicked. Because he’s an idiot.” 

His mouth opens, ready to protest that, but Hilda breezes on, getting to her feet to go collect one of her notebooks. Dimitri follows, at a loss.

“I can make him a ring for you, though, no problem. What would you like?”

He’s not good with things like this, and Hilda knows that. She helps guide him down a path with simple questions, and the result is the plan for a gold band with a jewelled stone that matches Dimitri’s eye colour because _he’s always been obsessed with the colour of your eye_ , according to Hilda. _I think he’s right about it—the only one with a prettier eye colour than you is Marianne._ He thinks that’s unfair—Sylvain’s eyes are one of Dimitri’s favourite sights in the world—but she is persistent. 

She already has a few jewels cut and polished and he picks the one he thinks would look best from her collection. The band wouldn’t be scales, but a woven, braided pattern Hilda claims she’s done hundreds of times for rings that people want to look _complicated_ but not overtly so. 

“They just don’t want to pay big money for something _too_ fancy,” she says, “but this is fancy enough for them.”

“Ah.” Dimitri had completely forgotten this was what Hilda did for a living. He feels his face warm at the lack of forethought. “I suppose I will have to ask Sylvain to pay you, as well, my apologies, Hilda—”

“Nope, nope, _nope!_ ” She shoves a finger at him, prodding his chest. “You are not mentioning this to Sylvain. Did he tell you about getting _your_ ring made?”

“Well, no, but I—”

“So you’re not telling him _I’m_ making _his_!”

“But I have no money—”

“I’m not taking your money, Dimitri, now _go_. I can have this done in a few hours.”

“That quickly?” 

Hilda beams, pushing at his shoulders. “My kiln’s already heated and I’ve got some gold melted down. I’m throwing everything else on the back burner to make this right away. Don’t worry about it, it’ll be perfect, I swear. I’ll call you when it’s cooled down. You’ll have it before dinner, I bet!” 

By the time he gets home, Sylvain is still gone. He gets a text before he’s even left Hilda’s that Sylvain’s fine and at Felix’s, but to think of what he wants Sylvain to make for dinner, which seems baffling at best. Dimitri never minds what Sylvain makes, but this seems as if it’s another test in a trial he wasn’t certain he signed up for. 

Hilda had seemed to know what it all meant, but had divulged little. Getting Sylvain a ring in return must have been the right choice, at least, and that soothes some of his anxiety. 

He spends the rest of his time waiting by doing idle chores to keep his hands busy, always getting distracted every few moments when he feels the ring against his skin, or spots the light reflecting off of it. 

He’s just finished sweeping when his phone rings, shimmying across where he’s left it on the coffee table. It’s the ringtone Sylvain specifically chose for himself, and Dimitri leaps for it as if he’s a whale desperate to breach the water’s surface.

“Sylvain!” he greets as soon as he’s picked up the call, and he’s relieved immediately by the soft chuckle. "Are you alright?"

“I am, I'm fine, sweetheart, I'm so sorry for earlier. I’m on my way home now, but Hilda says she has something for you that I’m not allowed to look at under threat of her slashing my tires.”

“Slashing your. . .?” Dimitri shakes his head, though he knows Sylvain can't see it. “I know what it is. She is an impressive worker.”

There’s a pause before Sylvain hums. “Have you been plotting things, my love?”

“I do not see how I could plot something I don’t understand,” Dimitri replies. 

Sylvain laughs, though the sound is strained. “That’s valid. I’ll explain why I did. . .what I did when I get home, I promise. Felix—and Glenn, honestly—knocked some sense into me. I’m sorry for worrying you, darling, that wasn’t fair to you.”

“I worry about everything,” Dimitri tells him, humming. “I trust you, though.” 

Another laugh, a gentler chuckle that puts him at ease. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

Sylvain arrives home less than fifteen minutes later. The box Hilda has sent with him is wrapped with multiple ribbons to deter Sylvain from peeking, larger than he had expected for a ring. In his other hand he has a bag full of groceries, that he dumps unceremoniously on the island to hand Dimitri the box.

“What is it?” Sylvain asks when he hands it to him, always curious. “Something fancy for you? Wait, hold on, did she convince you you need an eyepatch, because I swear to _Sothis_ —”

“It’s not for me,” Dimitri says, slightly startled. "It's for you."

Sylvain stops short, blinking rapidly. "What?"

Dimitri doesn't answer, instead busying himself with undoing the knots of ribbons. After a moment's pause, Sylvain moves, to tend to the groceries, but Dimitri feels his eyes on him, lingering, curiosity peaking but biting on his tongue from prying more.

A thought drifts into Dimitri's mind, idly carried like sea lace brought to the shore on a stray wave, as he manages to get the ribbons undone and opens the box. The ring looks perfect against a soft bed of teal fabric, just like he imagined. He wonders if Hilda had it at the ready, waiting for the day Dimitri picked out the gem and asked her to finish it for Sylvain.

"Can I see it now?" Sylvain asks.

Dimitri looks up, smiling. "I was afraid, earlier, that I had misstepped." Sylvain's brows start to furrow, but Dimitri continues on. "I do not fully understand ring customs with humans, and Hilda did not explain much."

"Ah—." Sylvain's face colours, dusty rose spreading across his cheeks. He lifts a hand, sheepishly smiling. "No, I should've explained it to you. It was my fault."

Dimitri shakes his head. "I understood enough, though."

That makes Sylvain pause, eyebrow raising as he turns to him. "You. . .did?"

"Hilda made this on my behalf." He holds the ring up, proffering it, watching Sylvain's eyes grow wide. "I assume it is customary, to exchange them?"

Sylvain's teeth dig into his bottom lip with a harshness that startles Dimitri. He doesn't protest when Dimitri takes his hand, sliding the ring on his finger.

"Fuck—."

Dimitri looks up to meet his eyes, jolting when he sees the tears welling in them. "Sylvain—"

"No, fuck, Dimitri, I messed up."

"What do you—?"

"I love you. _So much_. I wanted to do this right and messed it up."

"I don't understand," Dimitri says, feeling helpless as Sylvain's distress mounts.

" _Sweetheart._ " Sylvain grabs his hands, the tears starting to fall down his cheeks. Dimitri longs to wipe them away, but doesn't move, let's Sylvain hold his hands close to his chest. "Darling, Dima, light of my life—humans exchange rings like this when they propose."

"Propose?"

Sylvain nods, releasing one hand to wipe the back of it over his eyes. "I should've made sure you knew before you went out and got _me_ a ring. It's for marriage, Dima. I wanted to ask you if you'd marry me, but I panicked and thought you'd say no."

"Oh." Dimitri looks to him, eye widening. " _Oh_."

Sylvain sniffles, a rueful smile on his face. "Yeah. I should've—."

"Yes," Dimitri says, immediately.

Sylvain blinks at him, lashes clumping with tears. " _What_?"

"Yes," he repeats, nodding. "I want to marry you."

He watches Sylvain's bottom lip tremble as his mouth opens, watches as the emotions crash across his face, causing fresh tears to well in his eyes.

"Really?" he asks, voice meek, breaking halfway through the word.

Dimitri smiles, feeling his own emotions well up, but he manages a nod, a steady voice despite the tears in his eye when he says, "Of course I do."

Sylvain laughs, whooshing from his lungs first in disbelief, then relief and joy. He lunges, sweeping Dimitri up into his arms, ignoring both of their tears making steady salt tracks down their face as he brings their mouths together.

When Sylvain lifts him he feels weightless, like he's floating along in a current, letting it take him where it may. 

When he kisses him, he tastes of _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've made it this far, thank you for reading and encouraging my self-indulgence!! 
> 
> and, yes, Hilda had the ring ready to go, she just needed Dimitri to pick a stone for her to set. she knows her friends well.
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you'd like!


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